It was Little Joy's...

“These seats are meant for the elderly”.

That notice above the row of seats made João Miranda think twice and look for another bus spot where to sit down and leave his luggage.

In the rear seat, he comes across a middle-aged man wearing a thick beard, a turban and dark green lenses.

He was reading the tabloid "The Sun" and seemed to be deeply involved by the newspaper articles.

In the front page, in red capital letters, a headline that João Miranda would never forget :

“Beast Kills Girl of Nineteen”.

Involved by a typical fog and a few remaining city lights, a new morning has just broken.

In the centre of Trafalgar Square, the street thermometre falls to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. It also displays the current time. It’s 6 o’clock a.m. Somewhere nearby, a radio is blaring away a song of the mid-sixties:

“All you need is love.”

The lyrics remind João Miranda of Mrs. Maria do Carmo, his lovely elementary school English teacher.

Victoria Station is getting nearer and nearer. It’s nearly time to get off.

A timid, yet steady winter sun projects anonymous shadows on silent walls and pavements, gradually, the old city gets clearer and clearer.

Now, João Miranda counts pounds, pennies and shillings. After wandering for a while, he puts that heavy and awkward suitcase on the pavement and stretches his right arm…

“Taxi, Taxi”.

It was an old navy-blue Volvo of the mid-sixties. The driver, "a James Dean-like type", wears a black leather jacket and on his left ear swings a golden crucifix… The radio is on. He now listens to the song,

“A Day in the Life…”

Soon, João Miranda recalls his school days and that double-deck red bus he had just got off, as well as the queer character wearing "Baush&Lomb sun glasses while reading the tabloid The Sun…

In a few minutes, João Miranda would be in Ardgowan Road, an old fashioned street in the quiet neighbourhood of Lewsham. Finally, after wandering for a while, he arrives at the number 524.

Mrs. Emma Smith, his likely landlady, waters bed flowers and vegetables, orchards, chrysanthemums, violets and potherbs.

Mr. Rod Smith, the landlord, his son, Nick, of seven and his daughter, Joy, of nine, would arrive soon afterwards.

Lost in mixed up time differences, João Miranda falls asleep until a soft and childish voice breaks the silence of the second-floor bedroom walls and wakes him up:

“Joao, please, Tea is ready.” Still sleepy, João asks himself…

(…) Whose lovely voice was that ?

It was little Joy’s. She was calling him for dinner.

João Miranda, then, stood up, walked to the window, set the curtains apart, and with astonishment, stared at an Ardgowan Road scarcely visible in the dusk.

Slowly, a thick grayish fog also involves the street lights of Meadowcourt Road, and, in the back yard, he sees coloured clothes swaying freely in the clothes-line, while, in a “nature like ballet”, trees and bushes, stir their branches and leaves.

According to Mr. Rod Smith, tomorrow, early in the morning, he is to visit Lee Green, the school for foreign students, and will make a brief sightseeing tour around Catford in Mr. Smith’s brand new Nissan…

Fifteeen years had passed by… João is now in his room of study, in the distant and stiffling south hemisphere summer living one more “daylight-saving time”.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning followed by a loud crash clears the sky of those parts of the world, a gentle breeze stirs the curtains, causing an old souvenir of a tiny Great Britain national flag to turn down on his desk right before his eyes…

A Tale by Zizifraga

January, 2012.